Playing With Fire
by Jimmy the Gothic Egg
Summary: As children, we are told never to play with fire. Katara never really listened anyway.
1. Introduction

_Playing With Fire_

As a child, we're told not to play with fire.

We're told it could hurt us, it could get out of control, it could all turn horribly awry. Fire is not a plaything, it is not something you can just leave and forget about. Fire is dangerous.

Don't play with fire.

Katara never really listened anyway.


	2. Resolution

((Hug your dads!))

_Playing With Fire_

The life of a Water Tribe girl is a horribly dull one. She is forced to listen to the men, until there are no men left to listen to. She is forced to heal and not fight, and for Kanna this had always been binding.

Who wanted to live a life where you couldn't even choose your true love?

So Kanna had run from the north to the south, seeking refuge in her sister tribe.

Kanna had found someone to love in the South Water Tribe. She bore a daughter from the marriage, and her daughter bore two more offspring: a boy and a girl.

The boy would have each opportunity open to him, Kanna had thought. The girl would too, if she could help it.

Of course, things had gone horribly wrong, and the children had been left with nothing but a village of women and children, and a grandmother to care for them.

But Kanna had striven to teach her grandchildren all she knew. The boy had no talent for water-bending, but the girl took to it like a fish. She was a born fighter, Kanna thought. There was no reason to hinder this.

And then her grandchildren had come to her saying they needed to leave, to help the Avatar. Who could say no to that?

Kanna had never thought that giving her grandchildren every opportunity might mean giving them away.


	3. Substitution

_Playing With Fire_

Their first meeting had been in a war stance. His palms sweating with the heat of the fire he held, hers frozen in the ice she wielded.

Their next meeting—real meeting—hadn't improved. (Tied to a post! Fire Nation brat.) His voice cool as ice and hers brimming with fire.

They met again and again, each time with more spit and fire. If ever a friendly greeting passed, it was frozen. Their elements, it seemed, so interchangeable.

Their first meeting had been war. Their last was consent.


	4. Desolation

_Playing With Fire_

"_It's bad?"_

"_It's worse."_

_Katara stared at her brother, eyes wide. How old were they? Children, really._

_And they had no parents left._

"_What are we going to do?"_

"_Whatever we can."_

She stared at the fire and inched closer, hugging herself. What was this memory?

"Have you ever lost someone you loved?"

He stared at her, then turned away.

"Yes."


	5. Infatuation

_Playing with Fire_

They fought like lovers.

In battle they knew each other's moves as if they had fought each other a thousand times before (and it was probably adding up to that.) They could counter and block and strike, and they knew their weaknesses and their moves, and watching them fight was like watching a dance, something ritualistic, something that couldn't be described, or described in too many words.

When they weren't battling and just arguing, it was the same. Sometimes they would scream insults that actually might've hurt (they always apologized afterwards, because as much as they disliked each other, the rest of their feelings went towards liking each other. Platonically, she would snap as her brother teased her. He would just ignore the jaunts.) There were times when it wasn't screaming, but silence. (He did silence well, and she just fumed until the shouting started again. Shouting was their main way of communicating.)

They made up like lovers as well.


	6. Interpretation

_Playing With Fire_

He whittled with the fire. That was the only way she knew how to describe it, how he took to it like an artisan with his trade. He did it when he was bored and thought no one was watching, taking the campfire and spinning it around. She'd watch, secretly, out of the corner of her eye.

She sat down beside him, watching the fire play in his hands. Carefully, she leaned over him. Everyone else was asleep, and the fire was the only light.

"Are you going to put it out?" she asked. She wasn't drowsy, and she didn't want him to be either.

"Sure," he answered, and the fire dimmed before them. His warmth was still there in the dark, and she rested her head on him, staring at his figure.

Sometimes, she realized, the fires don't go out, even when you're done playing with them.

**Notes:**

Almost ended it there, but I think I'll keep it going.

The line itself is from the song "Sugarhigh."


End file.
